coda
by coerulus
Summary: (n.) The ending of a piece of music. Or, the story of how two lovers found their way across a million miles of galaxy, and how they burned like the stars they lived amongst. [anidala]
[death brought us together]

It begins in blood, scarcely moments after the ship explodes and her palm is slick with red from Cordé's cheek.

"I'm sorry, milady. I have failed you." Cordé's face falls slack against her hand, and Padmé cannot do anything to save her. People are dying because of her; this is not what the picture of justice should look like. A scream is building in her throat, but she goes to vote on the creation of the clone army with blood pounding in her head and shaking hands.

But before they can begin to solve the issue, she is placed under _needless_ protection from not one but _two_ accomplished Jedi Knights—both of whom could be investigating the origins of her assassin. Nonetheless, Jar Jar squawks the announcement of the Jedi, and she cannot say she is disappointed by Master Kenobi's presence. He looks better; a little more tired, but happy as he shakes her hand. He steps aside to reveal a tall boy in dark robes, no more than nineteen, with the same Padawan braid Obi-Wan himself had sported just a decade ago.

Something warm moves behind her sternum and a genuine smile pulls at the corners of her lips. "Ani?"

The roundness of his cheeks has settled into deep valleys, revealing a strong and (truthfully) rather attractive jawline. The change is slightly disorienting, if she's being honest. The height difference is amusing—she used to be at least two feet taller than him and now the top of her head barely grazes his nose. "My goodness, you've grown." She tries in vain to push aside the image of his broad shoulders showing beneath his robes.

He dips his head, a faint blush spreading through his face. "I—So have you," he stammers. "More beautiful, that is. Well I—I'm—I mean, for a senator." The words fall off his tongue clumsily. Obi-Wan, thankfully, has the decency to ignore his blustering (or rather, quiet his obvious snickering). Her stance used to be positively angelic, but now he towers above her. The same dark brown hair is still there, and the small but undeniably bold stature.

She laughs. Same Anakin, chivalrous as ever. "Oh Ani," she says, "you'll always be that little boy I met on Tatooine."

But it's a little different this time, a little more than that, and maybe she finds herself thinking about the young Jedi as more than just her protection.

It is ordered that they hide back home, back on Naboo.

She meets briefly with Queen Jamillia, and it is agreed that she and Anakin will stay in the lake country. Her heart warms at the thought of seeing her Sola and the rest of her family.

They walk along the terrace. Anakin holds his hand out for her as she steps out of the gondola, and he's grinning a little lopsidedly, a hint of mischief that she can't quite place but likes anyway.

"We used to swim out to the island out there," she reminisces softly, tracing the grooves in the stone with her fingertip. She tells him of her childhood, what it was like on the sun- soaked land at home. She is suddenly incredibly conscious of his closeness, how she can almost feel the bulge of muscle underneath his robes, how close his lips are to her forehead.

"I don't like sand," he mutters. "It's coarse and rough and irritating-and it gets everywhere."

She blinks, quite unsure of how to respond to his statement, when his hand edges over hers. She twitches, a little surprised at the contact. The tiny space between them, rapidly growing smaller, is charged with electricity and her lips begin to tingle. She is acutely aware of the firmness of his lips as they press against hers, the clean, light scent lingering on his skin, his hand tracing a thousand constellations on the bare skin of her back. She's sweating, he's sweating, and her skin burns wherever he's touched it. She's dizzy and shaken by the encounter, but a more primal sense has stirred in her, one that contradicts her ideas of moderation and calm.

"I shouldn't have done that," she gasps, pulling away from him. But her furiously pounding heart yearns to feel his mouth pressed against hers again, feel the quivering muscles of his hand on her back.

"I'm sorry." He's embarrassed; he _knows_ attachment is forbidden, but Anakin Skywalker has always had a thing for the illegalities of life.

But he isn't as sorry as he says, and he has a feeling Padme isn't either.

"You know, Anakin," Sola says as she sets down a dish of potatoes, "you're the first boyfriend my sister's ever brought home." Padmé rolls her eyes before she can remind herself of how undiplomatic it is to do so.

"He's just a friend," she says weakly. Anakin tactfully turns towards her father and engages him in conversation. After the meal, they both get up, and walk purposefully into the courtyard.

"Have you _seen_ the way he looks at you?" Sola gasps as soon as they are out of earshot.

"Sola!"

"It's obvious he has feelings for you," she persists. "And he's so _handsome_. Don't tell me you don't even appreciate his looks, at least a little bit."

"Aah," she chuckles, expounding upon Padmé's moment of hesitation. "So you do have feelings for him."

"I _don't_ ," she protests.

"Let me tell you a thing about love, Padmé," Sola says, handing her another dish to wash. "I know you're a senator. You love order, peace, calm; you like clear cut boundaries and solid communications. But love's not like that, Padmé. It's chaotic and messy, and it sweeps all reason from your mind. It's more beautiful than anything you could imagine."

"That only makes me not want to fall in love more," Padmé laughs.

"Mark my words, you'll see soon enough," Sola says. "I guarantee it, Padmé, that boy has feelings for you and you like him more than you'll admit."

"We'll see." She catches Anakin's eye through the window overlooking the courtyard, and he throws her a roguish wink.

"Listen to your heart, Padmé," Sola says softly. "Your heart will always tell you the right thing when it comes to love."

He looks so different at night.

Flame flickers and pools in his cheeks, and his eyes seem to have swallowed the entirety of the universe as he stares at Padmé. "The closer I get to you…the worse it gets," he confesses. "I can't breathe. I am haunted… _haunted_ by the kiss you should never have given me." His eyes, usually so calm and light, have turned dark with despair. "Please, if you are suffering as much as I am… _please_ tell me."

Padmé's breath hitches in her throat. "That…it's not possible."

He leaps to his feet. "Anything is possible, Padmé, if we try hard enough."

"No!" she exclaims. "Listen to me, Anakin. We live in a real world…come back to it!. Look. You're studying to be a Jedi Knight and . I…I'm a senator. It's not proper. If you follow your thoughts to conclusion, they will take us to a place we cannot go, regardless of the way we feel about each other."

"So you _do_ feel something!"

"Enough!" She turns away from him, so only the mocking fire can see the tears welling in her eyes. "I will not let you give up your responsibilities and your future for me, Anakin."

"You're asking me to be rational. That is something I cannot do."

"I won't give in."

He capitulates, nothing but the crackling of burning logs filling the sullen silence. "It wouldn't have to be that way," he says softly. He caresses the words, like they are something precious. "We could keep it a secret."

"We'd be living a lie," she whispers. "I couldn't do that to myself, Anakin. Could you? Could _you_ live like that?"

He turns. "No," he finally admits. "It would destroy us. But Padmé, please…please remember: for you, I would do anything." And he walks out the door, leaving Padmé alone with her thoughts and the enormous sky.

But she is a politician, and they deal in lies and secrecy every day. In the grand scheme of things, in a world patched together with plots and surreptitious alliances, love is just one more secret to hide, and one more can't hurt.

You have nobody but yourself to blame for this mess, she chides herself, looking shamefully at the scuffed toes of her white boots. She shivers, wishing for the warmth of the shawl that had fallen off while running around in the droid factory.

"Don't be afraid."

She looks at him, at his cold, fearless eyes. "I'm not afraid to die. I've been dying a little ever since you came back into my life." Her voice is hollow and she knows the words are a lie. But it will happen with Anakin by her side, and the fact brings her some small comfort. A lot of comfort, actually. I can't believe how short I am, she grumbles to herself, noting that Anakin has grown at least another foot in the hour that it took to fly from Tatooine to Geonosis.

"I love you," she blurts.

He turns his head and lifts an eyebrow, one end of his mouth twitching upward. "You love me?" He laughs softly, just a quiet puff of air. "I thought we had decided not to fall in love. That our lives would be destroyed."

"I have a feeling they're about to be destroyed anyway." The air stops circulating in her lungs and she puts no effort in holding back the tears fall without permission. "Before we die, I want you to know: I truly… _deeply_ …love you."

This time when they kiss, she's prepared. He tastes like heartbreak and long lost hope, a surprisingly sweet flavor for a boy like Anakin Skywalker. He is firm and strong but so, so gentle as he slowly leaves another kiss on her lips.

The noise coming from the Geonosian crowd gathered outside in the arena makes her sick to her stomach, so she concentrates on him, and her world is Anakin now, just the two of them in this vast expanse of galaxy. There is nothing else in the universe except Anakin and that, she thinks, is a perfect way to die.

Padmé doesn't remember 'illegally marrying the galaxy's golden boy' as part of the job description when she accepted Queen Jamillia's offer of being a senator. But here she is, standing on the terrace of Varykino, pledging her life to Anakin Skywalker. It isn't her dream wedding, but it _is_ something straight out of a dream.

Their lips bend time and space to meet each other, and something beautiful blooms over their skin when they touch. It feels like a tiny renewed spark of hope, that one day, maybe, just maybe, something good will rise from these ashes.

"I love you, Padmé."

"I love you, Anakin." His name tastes sacred upon her tongue.

"Remember when we said that we could never get married?" Anakin's lips brush against her earlobe.

 _"We'd be living a lie. I couldn't do that to myself, Anakin. Could you? Could you live like that?"_

 _"It would destroy us."_

"Yeah," she murmurs. "Seems like so long ago."

"I love you…so much…" he whispers.

But violent delights have violent ends, and in time, all good and sacred things are destroyed anyway.

"Remember when you told your sister that our relationship was strictly professional?" Anakin teases, moonlight spilling off the muscles of his arms. He throws off the rest his robes and slides in next to her, pressing a thousand starry kisses to her jaw and her neck, moving downwards at a sinfully slow pace.

"I take that back," Padmé gasps, one hand tangling in his hair—his thick, gorgeous, blonde locks of hair—

He snorts gently. "Tell me about it," he murmurs into her neck. His teeth scrape gently down her skin with an almost calculated precision. "Someday, this should be considered professional so we can do it more often."

"Forbidden marriage between politicians and impulsive Jedi Knights?"

"Sure," he says, his lips brushing softly over the extra-sensitive skin at her waist. She shudders against him and he laughs. "You alright up there?"

She groans. "Just hurry up, Anakin."

He smirks lopsidedly. "Of course, milady."

Three long years of war bleed into each other, and they grow distant. They steal moments when they can, sneaky kisses and whispered promises of how they will see each other again. Assassins, plagues, and creatures from the darkest corners of the galaxy rip them apart every time they meet, and in time, both of them silently acknowledge that they cannot always protect each other. Ahsoka gives her updates from time to time, and she often looks weary and tired, even for such a young girl, and Anakin isn't always with her.

But she knows her skill is needed in Coruscant, and Anakin's in the Outer Rim. Be that as it may, some selfish, guilty emotions rise up in Padmé, and she finds herself longing for Anakin more and more as the days melt by.

The first time she throws up, she blames it on stomach flu caused by some bad seafood. The second time it happens, she's not so sure.

"Feel better soon, I hope, Senator Amidala, hmm?" Master Yoda muses. Padmé nods weakly, clutching her abdomen. She runs as fast as she can to her apartments before she vomits for the second time that day.

A memory, seven or eight years old, resurfaces in her mind. It is before dawn; only a few solitary pink stripes cross the sky. Padmé is holding back Sola's hair as she vomits into a bag, clutching her midsection. When she's done, Sola turns to her sister, beaming.

"What are you smiling for?" Padmé asks, alarmed.

"Oh Padmé," she says happily, "don't you see? I'm pregnant."

Padmé clutches at her own uterus. Happiness rushes through her veins; she's pregnant, and it's Anakin's child. Their own child. She's dizzy with giddiness and morning sickness, but she hasn't felt this good in months. Years, really. It's all too surreal.

A child.

 _Anakin's_ child.

"General Skywalker is back!"

"He's back, did you hear that, he's back!"

Threepio runs as quickly as his awkward joints allow. "Oh, Mistress Padmé!" he cries. She looks up, alarmed at the droid's urgency. "Master Anakin has returned!"

Running isn't the best idea when you're five months pregnant, she realizes soon, but if the rumors are true…

She is supposed to be resting, so she can't be seen. Well. She can't be seen anyway, or at least the happy swell under her dress shouldn't be seen, but after a year of being cooped up in Coruscant, Padmé decides she doesn't care that much anymore. She stands on her tiptoes, but the weight of their child forces her back down, and she can't see above the enormous throng anyway. She hides behind a pillar and waits for the crowd to disperse.

"Excuse me, Senator Organa." Her heart leaps a million miles at the first sound of his voice, and she knows he's seen her too. He takes a glance back to see that Senator Organa is focused on something else, and sprints towards her.

Anakin catches her in his strong, familiar arms and spins her round twice, his breath warm and soft against her neck. His lips are on hers again—at _last—_ and it feels otherworldly, like all the forces in the galaxy have gathered together to give her this moment of happiness. Sweet, sweet relief sweeps through her whole body, and for just a minute, she surrenders to his touch, because nothing else truly matters anymore in the entire universe.

"Oh, Padmé," he whispers, kissing her again. "I've missed you so much." Another kiss, and another on her forehead; one on her nose, another on her lips. "It feels like we've been apart for a lifetime."

"Anakin," she breathes, "oh, Anakin. They—I, oh, they said you'd been killed. I've been living with unbearable dread."

"'M alright," he says, kissing her again. He's missed the feel of her body, the curves where his torso fits in hers so perfectly. He wishes so much he could just stop the war right now, just so he could be with Padmé forever. "Oh, I've missed you more and more each day." He kisses her again and again, just to make sure he isn't just unconscious on some ship, dreaming himself another reality.

"Not here, Anakin," she whispers.

"I don't care anymore," he says boldly. "I don't care if they know we're married, I don't—"

"Don't say things like that," she pleads. A sigh. She buries her face in his shoulder, quivering.

"What's wrong?" The leather of the glove he wears on his mechanical hand stops moving across her neck. "You're trembling."

She takes a deep breath. "Something wonderful has happened," she whispers. He tilts his head, waiting. "Ani…I'm pregnant."

She can practically hear his breath hitch in his lungs. Something flickers across his eyes: happiness, fear? Sadness?

"That…that's wonderful," he breathes. He glances down at her belly, beaming from ear to ear. He lays his hand gently on the bump and closes his eyes; he can feel the soft pulse of the Force from their baby.

"What are we going to do, Ani?"

He takes a deep breath. "We're not going to worry about anything now, alright? This is a happy moment." He leans down and gently kisses her forehead.

"The happiest moment of my life."

"Anakin?"

"Padmé? Where are you?"

"Anakin!" Her voice is rising quickly, her usual calm replaced by hysteria. "Anakin, help me!" She's screaming, and somewhere nearby a baby is screaming too—

"Anakin! Anakin, please!"

He bolts up in bed, covered in cold sweat and trembling violently. His hands won't stop _shaking_ , his nerves are frazzled—

Breathe, he manages to tell himself. Think. Be calm. _Breathe_.

Gradually, his shaking subsides, and he puts his fingers to his temples. Through some brief moment of clarity, Anakin concludes he might need some water and fresh air.

The buzz of airships fills the night sky.

"It's alright," he mutters to himself, "it's alright."

Padmé lays his hand gently on his shoulder. "Anakin…what's bothering you?"

He stiffens. "Nothing." A pendant hangs from Padmé's neck; with a warm rush of fondness, he realizes it's the japor snippet he carved when he was ten. "I remember this." The wood is smooth to the touch. After all, Padmé had always stroked the snippet to comfort her whenever she spoke in front of the Senate, to remind her of the one person who would always have unwavering faith in her.

"Don't change the subject," Padmé says firmly. "Anakin, I'm your wife. How long is it going to take for us to be honest with each other?"

"I had a dream," he confesses, not daring to meet her eyes.

"Bad?"

He nods. "Like the dreams I used to have about my mother." He pauses. "Right…right before she died." Padmé ignores the breaking of his voice. "It was about _you_."

"Me?"

"You…you _died_. In childbirth."

A lump of fear sticks in her throat, but she swallows it. "Anakin…it's okay. It was only a dream."

"No." His face is a hard mask of resolution. "No, Padmé. I won't let this one be real." He hugs her tightly, breathing in the scent of her hair. His heart beats feverishly in his chest. _I won't let you die on me_ , he thinks fiercely, _I love you. I won't let you die. I love you._

"Do you think…do you think Obi-Wan could help us?"

"We don't need his help." A twinge of annoyance laces his voice, a surprising tone for Anakin while talking about Obi-Wan. "Our baby is a blessing," he whispers. "Not a problem."

Somewhere, nestled deep in his heart, Anakin knows that some blessings are truly good, but some wither away to become a wretched curse.

"Ngghh." Anakin wakes with a jolt and nearly falls off the couch he's sitting on.

"You alright?" Padmé lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine." He looks around the room, distracted. "Has Obi-Wan been here?"

"He dropped by this morning. Is something bothering you?" she asks, noting his expression.

He stands up and walks slowly into the next room, looking moodily out the window. "I feel…lost. I'm not the Jedi I should be. I…I want _more_."

Her heart hurts for him, for the little round-faced boy who swore to free all the slaves on Tatooine; for the boy she sees in front of him, frayed at the edges and bursting at the seams.

"You expect too much of yourself," she says softly.

He places his hands on her arms. "No," he says. "I have found a way to save you."

"Save me?"

"From my nightmares," he whispers. His voice, though quiet, is practically trembling with excitement. An excitement that frankly scares Padmé a little.

"I'm not going to die in childbirth, Ani. I promise you." She leans against his chest and tucks her chin into the curve of his collarbone. Their child hiccups within her, and she feels stronger than she ever has.

"No," he says strongly. "No, Padmé.

"I promise _you_."

"Rebellion?" The word leaves her lips in a frightful gasp. "Oh Bail, I didn't think…I didn't know it was this bad!" But she knows she's kidding herself; she can see the attack on the Jedi Temple even from so far away.

"I'm afraid so, Padmé." Her old friend's eyes are tired, lined with premature wrinkles and crow's feet. "Stay in your apartments. You'll be safe there. The clones have not infiltrated the building yet."

She returns, heart hammering in her stomach (or is that the baby kicking?). Threepio's joints squeak loudly as he shuffles towards her. "Miss Padmé! There is a ship docking on the veranda. I believe it is Master Skywalker's!"

He sweeps her into his arms the moment he sees her and peppers her forehead with kisses. "Anakin! Are you alright? There was an attack on the Jedi Temple, I could see the smoke from here!"

"I'm alright," he says breathlessly, hugging her close. "I came to see if you and our child were safe."

"We're fine, Captain Typho's here. What's happened?"

"The situation is not good," Anakin says gravely. "The Jedi have tried to overthrow the Republic."

"I don't believe that!"

"I wouldn't either, but I saw Master Windu try to assassinate the Chancellor myself. But Padmé, there are also traitors in the Senate."

She wavers. "What are you saying?"

"You need to distance yourself from your friends in the Senate. The Chancellor said they will be dealt with when this is all over."

A wave of nausea rolls over her, and the recent events combined with her pregnancy cause her to fall against Anakin and start crying. "Oh, Anakin," she whispers, "I'm so _afraid_."

Anakin leans down and kisses her gently, stroking her hair all the while. "Have faith, my love," he says softly, holding Padmé close to him. "Everything will soon be set right. I must go to the Mustafar system, and I'm going to end this war. Wait for me here. Things will be different, I promise."

"I will," she says tearfully. He kisses her one last time, and it is soft. Tender. Promising.

"Wait for me," he calls, climbing into his ship. "I love you, Padmé. Be safe." He flies off into the cold dawn, and she starts crying harder than ever. To have faith is the hardest thing Anakin has ever asked of her, and she doesn't know if she can do it.

Afternoons have always been Padmé's favorite time of day. They're warm and happy and comforting, for some reason. But not today. She sits, helpless, stroking her ever-growing belly. Even their child can sense how upset she is; he won't stop kicking.

A speeder docks on her veranda, and a blurry ginger-haired figure hops out. Obi-Wan.

"Obi-Wan!" She hugs him, but it is perfunctory. "Oh, thank goodness you're alive."

"I'm looking for Anakin," he says. "When was the last time you talked to him?"

"Yesterday."

"And do you know where he is now?" he presses.

"No. He just told me to stay here and wait for his return," she replies, voice breaking.

"I need you to tell me," Obi-Wan insists. "Anakin is in grave danger."

"From the Sith?!"

"No. From himself," he says quietly. "Padmé…Anakin has turned to the Dark side."

The planet itself stops spinning, time freezes, and somewhere distantly, a star explodes. "No! You're wrong! How could you even say that?" The full magnitude of Obi-Wan's words hit her, and she sits down on the couch, struggling not to cry. Anakin, surely not _her_ Anakin, her beautiful, kind Jedi Anakin. He could _never_.

"I saw a security recording of Anakin killing younglings."

It would have hurt less if Obi-Wan had stabbed her with his lightsaber. " _No_ ," she whispers. "I can't believe that. I _can't_!"

"Padmé, I must find him."

"You're going to kill him," she realizes suddenly. " _Aren't you._ " Her heart is racing and tripping over itself, beating too fast, pumping blood at a rate her body cannot handle—

"He's become…a very great threat."

She makes no effort to stop the tears now. Turned to the Dark side. Killed younglings. Anakin. Not _Anakin_. It couldn't be him. It was a dream, something her pregnancy caused. "I…I can't." _I couldn't tell you, Obi-Wan. I couldn't tell you. I won't._

He stands and surveys her, his eyes lingering on the enormous bulge beneath her dress. "Anakin is the father, isn't he?" he asks sadly.

She cannot bring herself to confirm his words.

"I'm so sorry." 

Her deft fingers fly over the buttons on her ship, punching in the coordinates for Mustafar. She nearly throws up during hyperspace, but fortunately, Threepio is tactful enough to pretend not to notice.

Soon enough, she touches down on the landing platform, and a hooded figure starts running towards her ship. The japor snippet is heavy and cold against her bare skin.

Nothing _feels_ different when she runs into his arms, always so solid and safe and comforting. "I saw your ship," he murmurs into her hair. "What are you doing out here? I told you to wait for me."

"I…I was so worried. Obi-Wan…told me terrible things. That you've turned to the Dark side, killed younglings!"

He kisses her gently. "Obi-Wan is trying to turn you against me," he says softly. She wants to believe him so badly, she wants to surrender and just _leave_ this god-awful place—

"He cares about us," she chokes out. "He wants to help us, Anakin, please, just let him help us. Anakin…all I want is your love."

"Love won't save you, Padmé," he insists, "only my new powers can do that." A maniacal glint shines in his eyes, flickering between blue and yellow.

 _What's happening to my Anakin?_

"At what cost? You're a _good person_ , Anakin, don't do this!"

"I won't lose you like I lost my mother," he says fiercely, voice rising. "I have become more powerful than any of the Jedi could have ever dreamed of. And I've done it…for you."

 _I never asked you to do this for me._

"Come away with me," she pleads, stroking his hair, praying the familiar gesture might resurrect some reason within her husband; she _knows_ it's still there. "Help me raise our child. Leave all this behind while you still can!" She gestures at the carnage, the poisonous fascist destruction lying behind him.

"No!" his voice has risen to a shout, and she takes a step back, alarmed. "Don't you see? We don't have to run away anymore," he says passionately. "I have brought peace to the Republic. I am more powerful than the Chancellor! I—I can overthrow him! Together…you and I could rule the galaxy! Make things the way _we_ want them to be." A slightly insane grin suddenly lights up his features. There is a horrible crazed look in his yellow eyes now, and it begins to scare Padme.

"I don't believe what I'm hearing…Obi-Wan was right!"

"I don't want to hear any more about _Obi-Wan_ ," he says, spitting out the elder Jedi's name with contempt. "He is trying to turn you against me; don't you turn against me!"

She starts to cry in earnest now. She is _terrified_ —something has happened to Anakin, the Anakin she loves. The robed figure in front of her is not him. The monster bears his face, his blue eyes and dark curls, but it is not Anakin.

"I don't know you anymore." She turns away, not daring to believe her eyes. "Anakin…you're breaking my heart," she cries. "You're going down a path I can't follow!" The tears are coming thickly now, starting to choke her.

"Because of Obi-Wan?" he snaps.

"No! Because of what you've done, what you plan to do! Stop, stop now! Come back, I _love_ you!"

He pauses, and a moment of clarity rises in Anakin's eyes. His mouth opens to respond, but his gaze shifts upwards to see Obi-Wan and something violent once again comes over his face.

" _LIAR!_ " he snarls, fury clouding his vision once more. "You brought him here to kill me!"

Suddenly, her air supply is cut off. "No!" she chokes out, scrabbling wildly at her throat. She's being lifted off the ground and she can't breathe—and that means she can't think, and the baby can't get any air either—oh! The baby!

 _Anakin…I love you…_

She fades in and out of consciousness. Obi-Wan's face swims into her vision, and drowns again in the black ocean. She vaguely remembers asking if Anakin is okay, but she cannot comprehend his answer.

She wakes to a world where there is fire, but no flame.

An excruciating pain rips through her body and she shrieks, something rupturing within her—probably something vital—

Her vision blurs and shakes, and a lump of pink manifests at the edges of her vision. Obi-Wan holds her child in his arms, swaddled in white cloth. She tries to reach up and touch her baby boy— _Anakin's_ baby—but her arms are leaden and heavy. "Luke," she gasps. Because Luke is the name for a bringer of light, and despite everything, her baby has brought her nothing but light.

She screams again as another terrible pain rips her apart. She cries—the pain is unbearable, so intense as to put to shame all other hurting she has felt—and suddenly, it's all over. All over. Well, the pain is still quite there, but it has settled. And Obi-Wan brings…another child.

"Leia," she says, for the meadow. The meadow that brought her so many memories, so much happiness.

"Obi-Wan,." she calls for him, and the man moves to her side, his always kind eyes gazing with sorrow upon her.

"You have twins, Padmé," he says. "They need you. Hang on for them."

"I can't," she groans. Obi-Wan notices that her sweaty hand has been gripping the jappor snippet with alarming tightness the entire time.

"There…there is still good in him, Obi-Wan. I know it."

Her vision blurs, and suddenly Obi-Wan is Anakin, beaming down at her, telling her everything will be alright. Anakin is her world now, her entire cosmos, and everything is okay, it'll all be okay soon…Anakin loves her, and she loves him, and their children are safe…

 _I have faith in Anakin. We'll be alright. I know._


End file.
